Training Tristan

I went home and coaxed myself to a nice, gut-clenching climax with Tristan's body in mind. By the next day, my little agreement with Tristan seemed like a weird dream. After all, it had happened late at night on a dimly lit back parking lot. Had I really agreed to... wait, what exactly

had

I agreed to do? I pushed it to the back of my mind. He had probably been drunk or stoned or something and wouldn't remember any of it anyways.

I didn't see him for the next few days; our shifts didn't line up, and neither did our days off. By the next week, I had nearly forgotten the conversation had ever happened. When our schedules lined up again, he seemed to be the same old Tristan, flirting with the newer waitresses who hadn't seen through his games, charming his way to bigger tips, using his smooth talk to convince Lizzy to give him some better shifts the next week. I was content to let the matter between us drop.

I ducked into the break room halfway through my shift. Lizzy, George and a few others were all out back. They all smoked, and I knew I wasn't strong enough just then to resist that kind of social pressure. When I stepped into the small room, I saw Tristan occupying one of the only two chairs that were placed around the small card table. I nodded in greeting and went to get my drink from the fridge.

"So, ah... Mona," he said awkwardly.

"Hmm?" I responded, my mouth full of water.

"About the other night..." At that point, I was expecting a complete backpedal. Didn't matter to me either way. But then he asked, "Where do you want to start?"

Start?

Damn. He was serious.

"Yeah," I said, "I'm not totally clear what you wanted. So how about start with that."

Tristan sighed and slumped his shoulders a bit. He glanced at the doorway to make sure no one was nearby, then in a hushed tone he said, "I don't know. I just... was hoping you could help me to be more...

likable,

y'know?" I half nodded in understanding. I definitely knew he needed help on that front. "Like, I have no trouble picking up girls and even... you know... but it's like Macy said. I think I've been settling for that when something better might be out there."

"And what do you think

I

could do for you that you can't do on your own?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I braced for the obvious sexual retort, realizing I had left myself wide open. To his credit Tristan didn't take the easy shot.

"You can help me see myself the way other people see me, I guess? Teach me what women

really

want instead of what gets them into bed with me?"

I had to give him credit, the kid was actually trying. He had a nice little introspective side to him. "I'm not your typical woman," I warned him.

"Even better," he said. "I know how to manipulate a typical woman. It doesn't work with you, though."

"Yeah, your Jedi mind tricks are powerless on my kind," I deadpanned, accidentally letting some of my geek side show.

Tristan stifled a laugh, then said, "So... what do you think?"

Finishing off my water in one long chug, I tossed the bottle into the recycling bin and crossed my arms as I leaned back against the calendar . "Let me think about it, OK? And then we'll set some ground rules and I'll form a plan."

"Sounds good," he agreed, getting up from his seat and tossing some trash into the bin. As he stepped back out he gave me a sad look and said, "Thanks, Mona."

*******

AsTristan sat across from me in a coffee shop, I pulled out a carelessly folded piece of paper and began to read. "Rule number one," I began, "no touching." I had taken a few days to think about it, and I wanted to start very simple. Sure, I could see myself eventually turning to Tristan for some release if nothing better came along, but it had to be on my terms and in my own time. And only once he was a little less... sleazy.

Tristan nodded silently. He didn't seem surprised by Rule #1.

"Number two," I continued, "this is all on your dime. I'm giving my time, but I'm not paying for any of this."

"Sounds fair," he said, looking nervously over my shoulder as he lifted a warm drink to his lips.

"Rule three is..." I paused because Tristan couldn't seem to stop looking behind me. "Something going on back there?" I asked, a little annoyed.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head and leaning forward. "The barista," he explained softly, "she was my Valentine's date. The one I didn't..."

My eyes flamed in anger, "You brought me here knowing the last girl you went out with..."

"No, I didn't know! I swear! She was a blind date. You remember Gina, the chick who used to waitress at Jackal's back in the fall?" I nodded. I remembered Gina, even if I hadn't known her well. "Gina set us up, said we might be a good match."

"She was wrong?"

Tristan slumped back in his chair. "Yes and no. She was a good match for the guy I tend to be, the one Gina knew, but not the guy I think I'm wanting to be."

I let that comment hang for a moment, then asked, "You went on a date with her and came away not even knowing where she worked?"

He looked sheepishly at me.

"Does she go to school? What are her future plans? What's her family like?"

Tristan opened his mouth to attempt to answer, but nothing came out. He shook his head and shrugged.

"God, you must be the worst date

ever!

" I chided him. "What do you

do

on a date? Count the minutes until you can get her in bed?"

He gave a shrug and head nod that seemed to indicate that I wasn't too far off the mark.

"OK, I've got a new rule to add," I said, making a note on my paper. "Rule number 4, when you say something stupid, you get a smack on the back of your head. Calling Gina, or any woman, a 'chick' qualifies as stupid. I'm giving you a pass this once, but head smacks begin now."

Tristan winced, imagining the smacks that would follow. "And rule number three?" he asked through squinted eyes.

"No dating, no hooking up, no flirting – it all stops now," I said, staring at him in a way that dared him to react. I wasn't disappointed.

"Now hold on," he argued, straightening up in his seat. "You can't be serious about that. You want me to just..."

I didn't bother letting him finish. "If what you're doing really is making you unhappy, as I'm sure it's making most of the women you meet unhappy, then you need to stop."

"I can't just stop... I mean, what will I..."

I expected a lot of push back on that one. The strength of my bargaining position was that I had nothing to lose if he backed out. It would probably be easier on me if he did. And besides, I sort of liked watching him squirm. "It's too easy for you, Tristan. Sex is an easy thing, and we don't cherish what we don't have to work for." He slumped back in his chair and fiddled with his mug. "You can spend a little time experiencing what it's like for most people, people who actually spend time getting to know someone, people who can't... or won't... just walk into a bar and pick someone to take home for the night."

He gave me an icy glare and said, "I

do

know what it's like. You don't know me like you think you do."

Hmm. There was a story there – a story I would be curious to hear some other time. "Well, in any case, those are the ground rules. Take them or leave them."

I could see him debating with himself. His face showed alternating resignation and resistance. He stared over my shoulder for almost a minute, perhaps reconsidering the barista. Finally he said with a slight scowl, "You better not just be yanking my chain."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. People who are good at deceiving tend not to trust others, I guess. "You respect me for a reason," I argued. "I'm always going to be straight with you. You might not like it, but that's what you'll get."

Tristan looked down into his mug and closed his eyes, and even without his best feature, his face was classically handsome. I smirked to myself. At least I could enjoy the view during our times together.

"OK," he said slowly. "I'll do it."

*******

The first step, I had decided, was for Tristan to take me on a date, letting me see what it was like for a girl to go out with him. However, it was almost another week before our schedules lined up again. Weekends were out of the question – you just had to get used to that in my line of work. So it was a Monday when I found myself waiting for him outside my apartment complex. I lived close enough to downtown that we could walk to a lot of places from there.

Tristan arrived right on time, smiling proudly. We exchanged greetings, then I joined him as he continued walking down the street.

"So where are we headed?" I asked after a few dozen paces.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "I thought we could stop when we saw something good."

Without a word, I did a one-eighty and headed in the opposite direction, back to my place.

"Hey! What's the deal?" he yelled, chasing after me.

"We're done for tonight," I said, disinterestedly.

"Wha?... Why? I didn't even

do

anything!" he protested.

Reaching my street, I spun around to face him. "Exactly," I said, not hiding my condescension. "When you ask a woman out and then don't do anything to prepare for the evening, it shows how little you think of her."

"No, it's not like that," he objected.

"Yeah. Yeah, it is. Or it is to me, at least," I said, turning towards my building. "Better luck next time."

*******

"So I don't think that was entirely fair," Tristan said the next afternoon. We were standing out back of the restaurant, sharing our break. "I don't want to force a girl to do what I want. What if she doesn't like it? I'm trying to keep the options open... for her sake. So really, what I did was more considerate."

I looked at him and tried not to laugh. "If I thought you

really

intended it that way, I could give you some credit. But you and I both know that's not what was going on. You were just being lazy."

"Maybe," he conceded, not willing to argue with me. "But I have a point, don't I? Isn't that

more

considerate?"

"No," I told him. He wasn't the only one who had given this some thought. "It's fear."

"Fear? Really?" he asked suspiciously.

"Yes, fear," I said confidently. "Choosing somewhere to go or something to do reveals something about you – what you like, what appeals to you. A relationship can't just be about one person trying to do only what the other one likes. So especially on a first date, when you don't really know the woman, you're telling her something about who you are. You're taking a risk in being the first to show her something about yourself. But you're afraid to do that. Afraid she won't like what she learns."

Tristan looked at me, surprised.

I sighed. "Tristan, is a date anything more to you than just a preamble to sex?"

"Well, of course... I mean..." he hemmed and hawed but really couldn't deny that I'd hit the nail on the head.

"I guess if that's all you want, then it doesn't matter what you do on a date," I shrugged, glancing at the time on my phone.

Tristan clenched his jaw and kicked his foot backwards against the wall he was leaning against.

"I've got Sunday off, if you want to try again," I said smugly as I went back inside.

*******

On Sunday evening, I followed the directions to Tristan's apartment. It was a small one-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a modest building. Tristan led me to a small dining area on an enclosed patio. He had set up a small table with candles and a meal.

O God

, I thought with some disgust.

I hate candlelight dinners

. Tristan had not even been trying before; now he was overdoing it. I reluctantly handed him my coat and sat down in the seat he offered me.

"You don't seem impressed," he said, concerned.

"This... really isn't my thing," I said calmly as he took a seat across from me.

"This is some romantic shit!" he argued.

"

Shit

isn't romantic," I countered. "And I don't think this is

your

thing, either."

"You don't know that," he pushed back.

"Am I wrong?"

He held his breath for a moment, then let it out loudly. "No, you're right."

"So you're still not telling me anything about yourself..." I mused. "And you didn't even cook this, did you?"

"You can tell?"

"If you could cook like this, you wouldn't be working as a server," I stated. "Besides, some of these dishes have Macy written all over them. You got takeaway from Jackal's, didn't you?"

He shrugged and smiled.

"Whatever," I said, disappointed. "I can at least respect the effort you made this time. And I know the food's going to be good."

"Thank you," he said, with a hint of sarcasm. "Now help yourself."

The food

was

excellent. Unfortunately, the food was the only thing I enjoyed that evening. It would be generous to call the words that crossed the table a conversation. It was mostly a monologue about how great Tristan was. After all, he played sports, he had traveled, he had met interesting people, he had funny stories to tell about things he had done...

I tuned out for a few minutes and just admired his face. It was... like something from a shaving commercial. Dark, smooth... sharp jawline, confident smile.

"...and that's how I ended up working at Jackal's," he concluded some story with a self-satisfied smile. He looked across the table at me, smiling and waiting for a reaction. I put my fork down. Part of me was looking forward to tearing him down a few pegs. I was ready to burst that smug bubble with just a few well-chosen words.

But then I saw it. Somewhere behind that smile, somewhere... deep, I could sense him pleading for me to be impressed. He was craving acceptance. And then it felt like it would be too cruel to just humiliate him.

Those two forces both pulled at my will: the desire to squash him and the fear of breaking him.

"Tell me about your dad," I asked, trying not to sound like a shrink.

His smile faded and he leaned back, putting some food on his fork but neglecting to put the fork to his mouth. "Not much to tell. He's my dad, y'know. I guess we just didn't have a lot in common, so we never spent time together."

"He's not around?"

"Left. Years ago. We still keep in touch, but... like I said, not much in common."

"Mom?" I asked, sensing his reluctance to go further.

"Mom? She's great. Wishes I was around more, but a guy needs his space, right?"

"Ri-i-i-ight..." I said, skeptically. "Brothers? Sisters?"

He held out empty hands and said with a half-hearted smile, "Just me!"

"Hm," I said, nodding and taking my last bite. I waited for something, knowing it would never come. After another minute of silence, with Tristan finishing off his wine, I said, "Well, Tristan, thanks for the dinner. I should be heading home now."

Standing, I dropped my napkin onto the table and let him accompany me to the door. "It's kind of weird," he said.

"What is?"

"I'm not used to dates ending like this," he said.

"We'll talk about that later."

"Oh... OK."

I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets. God, what was I doing? I thought this would be good for a laugh, maybe a chance to enjoy a little hot action later on. But this? I wasn't a therapist!

*******

Two days later, Tristan and I were on break together. Lizzy was just heading back inside after her smoke break, and she gave me a not-too-subtle thumbs up when Tristan and I walked out together.

"Is that what a woman can expect on a date with you?" I asked, cutting to the chase.

"Uh, pretty much," he said, not making eye contact. "I mean, it usually progresses from there, but, you know... rule number one and all."

"Hmm... I thought so," I said quietly. "Let me ask you... what did I do before I worked at Jackal's?"

"Uhh," he paused. "High school?"

I shook my head in frustration. "What about my family? Not even asking for names, who's in my family?"

He looked at me blankly and slowly shook his head.

"What's my hobby? What kind of music do I like? What are my plans in life? What does my tattoo signify? Why did I become a chef?" The questions came rapid-fire, my voice rising with each one.

Tristan hung his head in shame. I had made my point.

"Not... one... single... question. The whole time, man, the

whole

fucking time, you didn't ask me one thing about myself. Man, you don't know me any better than that barista you went out with, or from any random woman on the street!" He looked up and away.

"So what

I

think," I continued, softly, "is that for

you

, a date is just an interview for a sex partner. And you want to impress her pants off, literally. You don't need to know anything about her because, well, you can already see that she has what you want. You still wonder why girls don't stick around? They're clearly just a piece of meat to you, and honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if that's all you are to them, as well."

I was holding back, really. I didn't want to throw everything at him at once. I stopped and waited for

some

kind of answer. Objection, argument, concession. Instead, he pushed himself away from the wall and walked past me, back into the restaurant. I guess that was answer enough.

*******

Tristan didn't speak to me again for a few weeks. I figured it was over. I had hit a nerve and he wasn't ready for it. Or, as my mom would sometimes point out to me, I had been an ass. "Even when you're right, you can still be wrong for being an ass," she would tell me, more often than I wanted to hear it.

Weeks became a month, then more than a month. I was working a few extra shifts, partly out of boredom and partly because Macy was pregnant and needed a little extra time off here and there. I started getting a little more introspective about my life. It wasn't just hormones, though I

did

need to change something about my dry spell. I realized I was hurting for a community – for a group of friends. Maybe that was why I snatched the whole paper off the public notice board when I saw someone looking for musicians to jam together. Rather than write down the number, I took the whole paper home with me (returning it to the board the next day, when I came to my senses). I called the guy who had posted the ad, a bass player named Russell. He said he'd let me know when there were enough people to get together. It was a start.

As for sex, I was starting to think, for the first time in my life, that it might be a good idea to just go out and find some guy at a bar. No strings attached, no emotional complications, but also no guarantees. It could be a total waste of my time, leaving me no more satisfied than I was already.

And so it was that the next Friday, with Steve and Macy covering the kitchen, I decided to head out to a place I had heard was popular with singles. I told myself I wasn't committed to doing anything, but that it wouldn't hurt to just see what was out there.

The live band was halfway decent, which distracted me from actually checking guys out. I've gotten way past the point of wasting my time complaining about the lack of guys trying to pick me up. I know I've got a great body, but it's a few shades too dark for most, even for those who claim to like dark girls. Besides, it's no fun being with someone who's only interested in you because they think it's kinky. I've learned that if I pursue a guy, unless he's

really

turned off by dark skin, he'll usually respond pretty well, even if he wasn't interested enough to take the initiative.

But that wasn't really on my mind as I watched the band and started to think I would enjoy getting some time to jam with other musicians. My mind was on stage somewhere when a bottle landed heavy next to me.